Ilahil of the Hidden Forest
by T. A. Hagen
Summary: This story concerns Aragorn's plight after he falls over a cliff in the White Mountains scene from the movie version of The Two Towers . Please R&R!


Ilahil of the Hidden Forest

By Teresa Hagen

_(Disclaimer: I humbly submit this piece of fan fiction, making no attempt to copy Tolkien's masterpieces, except in spirit and celebration of the world of Middle Earth.  I was inspired by both the books and the recent movies, the events of which are reflected in my tale.)_

She found him by the edge of the river, partially submerged in the fast-flowing water.  His right arm, serving as his only anchor, was crooked around the branch of a tree whose tentative roots miraculously held fast to a low outcropping of rock that braced the shore.  Drawing nearer, the young woman tried to look at his face, but his head was slumped against his chest and his long, dark hair hid his features.

Unsure if he was alive or dead, she untied a length of braided rope from around her waist, removed her heavy robes and, dressed only in her undergarments, waded into the cold water until she was waist-deep.  Steadying herself against the current, she slowly made her way to the man.  Once beside him, she reached out to push the wet, scraggly hair away from his face but abruptly jerked her hand away as if a snake had struck.  Frowning, she closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath.  Again, she reached out and touched his forehead.  He was alive.

Quickly, she tied her rope around his waist and dislodged him from the tree.  Then supporting his weight and her own, she fought the tide back to the shore, where she gently laid him down.  Pausing to catch her breath, she eyed the stranger.  His clothing spoke of a nomad's life, though there were signs of a recent battle with something (or someone) that left wide gashes in his garments and his flesh.  

A shiver coursed through the young woman's body, and she grabbed her wool gown, slipping it over her head and settling it into place.  Night would fall soon, and there would be snow on the ground by morning, she thought--all the more reason to move her injured companion to warmer environs.  She scanned the area for any materials that she could fashion into a suitable litter.  Within minutes, she found enough felled tree limbs and water reeds to construct a crude bed.  After she covered it with her cape, she dragged the man onto the mat and secured him in place.  Grabbing the limbs that were lashed on either side, she slowly dragged the litter toward the forest, where she disappeared into the deepening gloom.

********

Aragorn's first sensation as he struggled back to consciousness was of searing pain.  Long practiced in the Elven healing arts, he muscled what little concentration he had on quelling the sting.  It abated only slightly.  Opening his eyes, he surveyed unfamiliar surroundings from his position on a fur-covered bed.  Rough-hewn logs held in place with mud formed the four walls of the shelter, and thick straw served as covering overhead.  The hut's only opening appeared to be a wooden door draped with fur.  A fire crackled in the hearth, providing both light and warmth.

The Ranger tried to remember how he had arrived, but all he could recall was a battle in the White Mountains with an Orc and its mount, a wolf-like Warg, which had dragged him over a cliff and into the frigid waters below.  He shivered from the memory, causing pain to shoot through his body with renewed vigor.  A groan escaped his lips.

A woman's face emerged from the shadows and hovered above him.  For a moment, he thought he might be dreaming.  No creature in Middle Earth could be so waiflike.  Red hair formed soft curls around translucent, porcelain skin.  Her green eyes seemed to peer into his very soul.  Aragorn wondered with a sudden panic if she might be one of Saruman's minions.  He willed his body to move, but strong hands pushed him back down.  Without a word, the woman caressed his temples with a substance that smelled vaguely of wildflowers, until he grew drowsy.  He tried to fight sleep, but it soon overpowered him and he sank into darkness.

When next he awakened, he found the woman crouched over the fireplace, stirring the contents of a steaming kettle.  The door was ajar, and Aragorn could see that there was daylight.

"Where am I?" he croaked, barely above a whisper.

The woman started at the sound of his unfamiliar voice but regained her composure quickly.  Wiping her hands, she stood up and glided to his side.

"Your name is Strider," she said matter-of-factly.

Aragorn frowned.

"You talk in your sleep," she replied with a smile.  "Though I believe you might be called by another name."

The Ranger remained silent.

"I am Ilahil," she said.  "I found you two days ago in the river, barely alive."

"Two days!" he exclaimed, alarm giving energy to his voice and his body.

Ilahil reached out to calm him.  "You must be careful.  Your ribs are damaged and your wounds are not yet closed."

"I cannot stay, here," Aragorn replied as he unsuccessfully tried to sit up.  "I have business to attend to."

"I can see your errand holds great importance to you, but you have no choice but to lie still," she said firmly.  "Now, you must eat.  I have broth for you."

She retreated to the fireplace, where she poured a ladle of broth from the kettle into a small bowl.  Returning to his side, she used her free hand to support his head as she carefully brought the bowl to his lips.  Although he lacked hunger, Aragorn forced himself to swallow the soup.  He needed to regain his strength as quickly as possible.  There was no telling how much this delay had endangered his friends, who must have arrived at Helm's Deep by now. 

"You have many cares for someone who travels with no companions," Ilahil said as she searched his face for answers, but Aragorn's eyes remained calm and he did not return comment.

Setting her lips in frustration, she put the dish aside and began to gingerly probe his injuries.  He grunted in pain.  Concern showed on her face.  "I should change your bandages."

She reached for a jar that sat on a small table beside the bed.  After she gently removed the dressings from his gashes, she spread a black-green paste on clean strips of cloth and rewrapped his wounds.  Aragorn felt his pain ease slightly.  

"You know the healing ways," he said as he tried to shift position, but the binding around his ribs prevented it.  "Who taught you?"

Ignoring his question, Ilahil walked over to a shelf, scanned its contents and removed a jar.  She turned to the fireplace, removed the kettle from the fire and withdrew a strange bulb-shaped plant from the container.  She speared the plant with a dagger that she detached from her belt and held the bulb over the fire.  Within seconds, a pungent odor filled the room.  Once the plant had charred, Ilahil put it on a plate and chopped it into small pieces.  She returned to Aragorn's side and tried to feed him, but the Ranger stopped her.

"Answer me!" he commanded, his gray eyes blazing with intensity.

The young woman sighed in resignation as she fixed him with a sad gaze.  

"I am not ready to tell you, yet," Ilahil said.  "Please, you need rest, and this plant will assist your slumber."

Aragorn searched her face for signs of bewitching, but he saw only concern for his well-being.  Still, Middle Earth had become a dangerous place, and he had little experience entrusting strangers with his life.

"You must trust me," she insisted.  "I have no wish to harm you."

He gazed at her for a few moments more.  Then he relented, allowing her to feed the bulb to him and grimacing at the plant's bitter, but recognizable, taste.  He had barely swallowed the last piece before he fell into a deep slumber.

The anesthetic did little to calm Aragorn's subconscious mind.  Images of his journey to Rohan, Frodo, his Elven brethren Legolas, the Ring flashed before his closed eyes.  Then he heard singing.  Arwen!  His beloved was calling him.  How easy it would be to lie in her arms and shrug off the mantle of responsibility that weighed so heavily upon him.  Her image began to take shape, but he could not see her face.  Slowly the vision faded as the Ranger's senses returned to normal.

Aragorn awoke to the sound of Ilahil singing.  He recognized the lyrics as an Elvish song he had learned as a child.  For a few moments, he listened to her clear voice.  It reminded him of the birds in Rivendell.  He forced his mind to focus on his present circumstances.

Carefully, he sat up into a semi-inclined position, with his elbows supporting the weight of his body.  The effort and the pain caused his vision to dim, and he rested until it passed.  Gaining strength, he sat up fully and shifted position so his feet touched the floor.  A conveniently placed chair provided the prop that he needed to bring himself upright.  He swayed slightly but regained his balance quickly.

The door was open, and Aragorn realized that Ilahil's voice came from outside.  It was still daylight.  For so little distance, the path to the door stretched on interminably for the injured man.  Finally, he gained the threshold and found Ilahil on the porch, seated in front of a small table, skinning a rabbit with a dagger.  Sensing his presence, she stopped and turned around to face him.  

"You sing beautifully, Ilahil," he said softly.

Taking a step forward, Aragorn almost tripped.  Ilahil jumped up from her chair and sprang to his side.  "You should not be so anxious to regain your footing, my lord.  It will not hasten your mending."

"I am well enough," he replied, though he gladly accepted her help to sit in the chair.  "You called me lord.  I am but a Ranger."

"Did I?" she asked evasively.

She removed her cape and placed it around his shoulders to protect him from the chilly air.  "You are Lord Aragorn, are you not?" she asked with a knowing glint in her eyes as she tucked the cloak around his upper body.

His expression hardening, he caught her hand and grabbed the knife from the table.  He pulled her towards him until the tip of the dagger rested against her neck.  "I have been patient long enough.  Tell me who you are!"

"I would welcome your blade, if it would relieve me of the burden that is my life," she whispered as tears filled her eyes.

Compassion replaced anger, and Aragorn released her.  He dropped the dagger and sat back in his chair, exhausted from the surge of energy.  Ilahil sagged to the ground, rubbing her bruised wrist.  For an injured man, Aragorn's grasp was still strong.

"Tell me," he insisted, gently.  "How do you know my name?"

Ilahil stared out at the thick forest that surrounded the cabin.  She drew a long, shuddering breath.

"My mother, Eamane, was Elfkind.  My father…" Ilahil looked up at Aragorn with anguished eyes.  "My father, Avinlor, was an apprentice of Saruman."

"Saruman!" Aragorn exclaimed with revulsion.

"He was apprenticed to the wizard before the dark times," Ilahil said.  "He saw it as a great honor when he was chosen.  But then Sauron began to control Saruman, and the wizard pressed my father into his service.  By the time he realized what evil had taken hold, my father was too weak to resist."

Aragorn could see that Ilahil was trembling, but her revelation left him emotionally numb, unable to move or comfort her.

"One day, while traveling to a village near Rivendell, his horse became skittish and threw him to the ground," Ilahil continued.  "My mother was but a maiden at the time, and she came to his aid.  The darkness had not yet taken over his soul, and he was drawn to her innocence.  They fell in love.  Once my mother became aware of his true nature, she convinced herself that she could save him, that a child—his child--would change him."

Ilahil paused and looked up at Aragorn again.  She seemed to be searching his face for a sign of understanding, forgiveness, and finally, realizing her pain, the Ranger reached out and briefly cupped her chin in his hand.  A single tear glistened upon her cheek.

"As the time came closer for the birthing, my mother began to realize that my father's promises to leave Saruman's service were empty words.  She was heartbroken and frightened.  The Elves vowed to protect her, but as Saruman's power grew stronger over the years, my mother feared that Avinlor would try to claim me for his own uses.  She and I fled to this forest, a forest protected by Elven magic, where she built this shelter.  I am no longer sure if he still searches for me, or even if he is alive."

"Why would Avinlor be looking for you?" Aragorn asked.

Ilahil sighed.  "I have the power of seeing.  It is a curse, actually.  I saw my mother's descent into madness, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  She died just last season."

"I am sorry," Aragorn said with sincerity.

Ilahil shrugged.  "I have accepted my burden."

"But to live so alone, with no other kin or friendship.  It is an empty existence."

"And as a Ranger, one you know too well," Ilahil replied.

Aragorn's face clouded, and his expression turned grim.  His thoughts turned briefly to Boromir, who had died in his arms.  He understood the grief of loss and the desire to withdraw from its experience, but he knew that his life as a Ranger was over.

"I know what you must face and the perils that await you if you fail," she said quietly.

The future king gazed into Ilahil's green eyes.  Was it her gift that allowed her such clarity, or his thoughts that had somehow communicated themselves to her?

"All of Middle Earth waits for your word.  She waits for you as well."

Surprise registered on Aragorn's face.  "Arwen!  What do you know of her?"

"That her love for you is deep, and that she has forsaken her immortality to join with you."

Humbled by the thought that Arwen had tied her life to his future gave him renewed purpose.  He sat taller in his chair, ignoring the stabbing pain of his ribs.  "I need to continue on my journey.  How far am I from the path that leads to Helm's Deep?"

"The road to Helm's Deep is wrought with peril for one who is so injured," Ilahil said with a concerned frown.  "Could you not delay your departure for a little while?"

"I have no choice," Aragorn replied as he stood up from the chair on unsteady feet.  "I must leave at first light tomorrow."

Refusing Ilahil's assistance, the leader of men returned to the warm confines of the hut, where he staggered to his cot and immediately fell asleep.  But this time, it was the sleep of one who had embraced his destiny—for good or for ill.

********

A shriek in the darkness brought Aragorn instantly awake.  He peered through the gloom, searching for the source of distress.  Then, by the light of the fireplace's dying embers, he saw Ilahil huddled on the floor, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth.  She looked terrified.  Aragorn rushed to her side.

"Do not touch me!" She screeched.

Confused, Aragorn backed away.

"He will find you if you touch me," she whispered with eyes closed.  She seemed to be battling demons within her own mind.  Her head jerked and her eyelids twitched, movements that caused Aragorn to wonder if she might suffer from her mother's affliction.  

Finally, her seizures abated, and Ilahil's body relaxed.  The young woman looked up with bloodshot eyes at Aragorn's bewildered expression.  Whatever her battle, she had suffered for her victory.

"My father is still alive," she said, her voice quavering.  Aragorn carefully sat down beside her with his back to the wall, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.  In an effort to calm her, Aragorn sang an Elvish lullaby, until she fell asleep in his arms.  Aragorn closed his eyes as well, but he could not find rest.

When dawn's light peeked in from under the hut's ill-fitting door, Aragorn gently shook Ilahil awake.  Her eyes widened, once she realized that he was holding her, and she quickly stood up.

"I am sorry, my lord, for such impertinence," she said, avoiding his gaze.  "It will not happen again."

"You did nothing that would bring you shame, and all I did was serve as a place for you to rest your head," Aragorn replied.

Embarrassed, the young woman turned to the fireplace and placed several logs on the hearth in preparation to light a fire.  Amused by her discomfort, Aragorn shifted position on the floor and realized the folly of having sat in the same place for so long.  Though he was fit and lean, he was not a young man, and combined with his injuries, rising to his feet proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

"I was able to prevent my father from learning of your presence, but it is only a matter of time," Ilahil said as she started the fire and busied herself with the kettle.  "You are no longer safe, here."

Aragorn sighed in agreement.  "Your advice on locating the road to Helm Deep would hasten my departure."

"Of course," she stated matter-of-factly.

Following a simple breakfast, Ilahil scurried about the cabin, filling a knapsack with dried meat and fruit.  Having lost his sword and the Evenstar in battle, Aragorn had no possessions with which to concern himself except the leaf brooch that secured his cloak.  He stood on the porch outside and mentally prepared for the journey.  Ilahil soon joined him, two knapsacks in hand.

Reaching for both sacks, Aragorn said, "I thank you, Ilahil, for tending to my injuries.  If Sauron is destroyed, I will send word back for you so you may end your banishment and have company with others."

Ilahil held fast to one of the backpacks and fixed Aragorn with a steady gaze.  "I am sure you are an excellent Ranger, sire, but these woods are not kind to strangers.  I will accompany you as far as the river."

Unwilling to challenge Ilahil's resolve, Aragorn released his hold on the bundle and, flinging the other pack over his shoulder, followed her into the woods.  Within minutes the cabin had disappeared from sight.  Aragorn marveled at the density of the trees and the solitude.  Despite his expert tracking skills, he felt disoriented.  But Ilahil's steps did not falter, and it appeared as if the trees and the birds were whispering to her, showing her the safest path.

At day's end, the pair finally cleared a patch of thick brush and emerged from the forest onto the bank of the river.  Dropping their heavy packs, Ilahil and Aragorn stumbled to the river's edge and drank from the clear water.

Once he had quenched his thirst, Aragorn retrieved his pack and pulled out a couple of strips of dried meat.  Handing one to Ilahil, Aragorn sat on the ground and chewed hungrily on the jerky.  The journey had been long, with few stops.  He stretched sore muscles and fidgeted with his bandages, which were beginning to chafe.  Out of frustration, he finally removed the bindings, taking care not to reopen his wounds.

Ilahil walked over to her backpack and pulled out a small jar.  She offered it to Aragorn.  "This salve will help heal your wounds."  Gratefully, he accepted the ointment and applied it to his skin.

Meanwhile, Ilahil began gathering wood.  Aragorn helped her, and soon the two travelers were enjoying the warmth of a small campfire.  Looking up at the clear night sky, Aragorn recognized several of the constellations.  If he followed the river, he should reach Helm's Deep within a day.  What would he find when he arrived?

"You face a great battle," Ilahil said.

"How do you know this?" Aragorn asked; no longer surprised by her ability to read his thoughts.

"My father could not conceal all from me, just as I cannot conceal all from him.  Saruman has amassed a great army of Uruk-hai."

Aragorn's eyes widened.  "Did you see how many?"

Ilahil shook her head.  "You must be careful on your journey that they do not see you."

The Ranger was silent for a moment.  He stared into the fire, imagining the horrors of combat that he dare not dwell upon.

"I have given you much to worry about," Ilahil said as she removed a small flask from her pack.  "Come, drink of this potion, which will calm your mind and let you sleep, tonight."

Aragorn hesitated.  He was wary of sedatives, but he knew that he needed rest.  Sleep would be a luxury he could ill afford in the coming days.  Nodding his assent, he accepted the flask and took a healthy swig.  The tonic left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Now, my lord, let me sing you to sleep so you may dream of better days ahead."

As Ilahil began her song, Aragorn stretched out on the ground and leaned his head on his pack.  He was asleep before the young woman had begun the second verse.

********

When Aragorn regained consciousness, he heard the sound of running water.  Disoriented, he started to lift his head to see where he was, but a throbbing headache and painful ribs persuaded him to lie still.  He tried to recall the events that would have led to his present circumstances, but his memory was slow to respond.  Suddenly the muzzle of a horse came into view.

"Brego, I am glad to see you," he said in Elvish.

The horse snorted and nudged the Ranger.  Grabbing onto Brego's mane, he pulled himself up to a sitting position.  He noticed that several partially healed gashes covered his arms.  In a rush, he remembered the battle with the Orc and the Warg…and the plunge over the cliff into the water below.  In a panic, he realized that his sword and, even worse, the Evenstar were missing.  How far had he floated down river and when had he washed ashore--a day ago, two, three?  He saw the remnants of a campfire, but the ashes were cold.  Maybe he had started a fire and then passed out.

No matter what had transpired, he must press ahead to Helm's Deep as fast as he was able.  Aragorn stood up and swayed slightly as a momentary dizziness overcame him.  Recovering quickly, he turned to Brego and discovered, to his relief, that his sword, which rested in its scabbard, was tied to the saddle.  Looking more closely, he noticed a parchment wrapped around the sword's handle.  He removed the paper and uncurled it.  The message was written in Elvish.

_Aragorn.  King Theoden has commanded us to press on towards Helm's Deep and I am unable to search for you.  Although the king believes that you are dead, I have faith in your destiny, and I trust that Brego shall find you.  Join us with all haste.  I have the Evenstar.  Legolas._

Subconsciously, he reached for the missing necklace where Arwen's jewel had hung.  The knowledge that he had not lost his love's gift brought him renewed focus.  There was no time to lose.  With much effort, he mounted his horse and slowly rode away until he was lost in the distance.

********

Ilahil hid behind a tree at the forest's edge, two packs of supplies at her feet.  While she waited anxiously for Aragorn to regain his senses, she questioned once again the wisdom of her actions, but contact with her father had left her with few choices.  Even now, she knew the forces of Sauron would be looking for the son of Arathorn.  

She wished that she could have been honest with Aragorn and told him the truth--that she had been in contact with her father for some time, and he had told her of the Ranger's existence.  But the injured man would not have trusted her if he had known the truth, and his trust in her had saved his life.

Suddenly, she heard a rustling in the bushes behind her.  She reached for her dagger in preparation for battle, but released her hold on its hilt when she saw that the intruder was a horse.  He was large and stately, and he surveyed her with intelligent, brown eyes.  Ilahil stared at the animal and watched in disbelief as he trotted over to Aragorn and nudged him.  There was no doubt that this was the Ranger's steed.

Watching closely, she saw Aragorn raise his head then, by holding on to his horse's mane, sit up.  With relief, she noted that he seemed confused as to his whereabouts.  The amnesia drug she had mixed into the calming potion must have worked.  She fingered the small bottle of elixir as she watched a few moments more to make sure that the Ranger did not search for her.  There was one dose left of the concoction.

Once Aragorn mounted his horse and prepared to take his leave, Ilahil wiped away a tear.  She grieved for the memories she would no longer retain of this man who would be king one day.  She envisioned him standing on a dais with a shining crown atop his dark hair, which was flecked with gray; Arwen, the beautiful Elf princess, stood by his side.  What joy such an event would have brought to her life!  But her role in the future of Middle Earth would never be acknowledged, and even she would not remember it.

Shame and revulsion of her evil heritage threatened to overwhelm her.  Removing the stopper from the bottle in her hand, the young woman downed its contents quickly.  She grimaced from the elixir's bitter taste.  After one last look at the retreating Aragorn, Ilahil picked up her bundles, turned toward the forest and made her way back to her lonesome existence, secure in the knowledge that she had at least foiled her part in one of Saruman's evil plans.

The End


End file.
